


Settle Down, It'll All Be Clear

by politics_and_prose



Series: Our Roots Will Always Be Tangled [2]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 09:29:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18588469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politics_and_prose/pseuds/politics_and_prose
Summary: When Finch was a newsie, he never imagined he would live anywhere but in the lodging house on Duane Street.  Part of him understood that newsies age out – folks don’t buy papers from adults – but he’d never really thought about what he would do when it was his turn to leave.





	Settle Down, It'll All Be Clear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tuppenny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuppenny/gifts).



> This is a follow-up and in the same universe as my "Running with the Night" story, but doesn't belong in the series. Inspired by a simple question from the incredible tuppenny: "Do you think he ever reunites with his mother?" This is the answer.

When Finch was a newsie, he never imagined he would live anywhere but in the lodging house on Duane Street. Part of him understood that newsies age out – folks don’t buy papers from adults – but he’d never really thought about what he would do when it was his turn to leave.

Jack had left and continued working as an illustrator at The World. Davey found a job at The Journal, first working in the mailroom before eventually making his way to junior copy editor. Specs got a job in a factory, just like Race and Blink.

Finch didn’t really know what he wanted to do when he left the lodging house, but as the time drew closer, his friends kept giving him ideas. He couldn’t stand the idea of working in a factory, he didn’t want to work at the docks, and not just because Spot Conlon had a crew over there. He didn’t really think loading and unloading ships was what he was meant to do with his life. 

He started out as a trolley worker, selling papers on the side, when he was seventeen. He wasn’t too good at it, though, so he didn’t last long. Jack offered to help him out and get him a spot at The World, but Finch didn’t think he was meant to work inside all day. He’d spent too much of his life, nearly half, working every day on the streets. They were his home just as much as the Duane Street Newsboys Lodging House was.

Shockingly, it was Albert who gave him the idea to get a ferry job. He could work outside, meet new people and visit Richmond as much as he wanted. Smalls had gone over there from the Bronx a couple of years ago and he hadn’t seen her much since. He fondly remembered the way he used to threaten to load her up into his slingshot like she was a marble.

She’d always punch him in the gut after he said it.

It was a good, easy friendship that he’d missed since she’d moved on.

Working on the Staten Island Ferry meant he got to see a ton of people, none of whom looked down on him because of his job. When he was a newsie, some folks thought he was just a nuisance, shucking him to the side because they didn’t need his services. Working as a crewman on the ferry, everyone there needed him and they showed him respect. It was weird, watching ladies in fancy dresses and big hats smile and thank him as they unloaded at the terminal in lower Manhattan, but it made him feel good about himself.

After he’d gotten back in touch with her, Smalls told him maybe working the ferry would be how he met his future wife. He would grin and wink and tell her he already had every time she brought it up.

She’d punch him in the gut after that, too.

It seemed she wasn’t completely immune to his charms, though, because one Saturday, she decided to spend the day riding the ferry. Sure, she got off in Manhattan and went to visit some of the other guys, but she came back after lunch and took a few more trips back and forth with him, chatting and smiling in between him completing his duties.

They made plans for dinner for the next Saturday (“A proper date, okay?”) and Finch felt like a thousand bucks.

On the last run of the day, he was shocked to see Les running towards him, eyes wide. “Finch! Finch, ya gotta hide!”

Immediately on edge, Finch tensed. “Why? What happened?”

“Some fellas, bit older ‘an me, come ‘round the lodging house and asked about you. Used ya real name. Boots didn’t think ‘fore he said you was down here workin’ on the ferry. They’s headin’ this way now.”

In his near panic, Finch didn’t take time to appreciate how far Les’ proper English fell off after he moved into the lodging house full time. He did, however, glance behind the kid to see two boys approaching as quickly as they could without being in full out sprints.

“Want me ta hold ‘em off?” 

Finch’s attention snapped down to Les, who looked about as anxious as Finch felt. Before he was able to answer – and he didn’t really know what he was going to say anyway – he heard one of the boys call out.

“Patrick? Hey, Patty, is that you?”

Finch’s blood ran cold and he felt himself pale. There was no way.

“Holy crow, Billy, it _is_!”

The two boys came to a stop right in front of him, eyes almost as wide as their smiles.

“I’d know them curls anywhere –“

“His nose is just like Ma’s –“

“Tall like Papa too –“ 

“Can’t believe –“ 

“Hey!” Les shouted, inserting himself between him and the boys. “What’ya want with Finch?”

Billy snorted. “His name ain’t Finch, it’s Patty.”

“Patrick,” Tony amended. “And he’s our big brother.”

Les turned to look up at him with wide eyes, searching for the truth. The kid was so much like Davey, though he’d never admit it, and the familiarity made him feel a little more at ease. 

“Yous two got big,” was the first thing that came out of his mouth. It was stupid and a lot less than he should have said but it was the only thing he could force himself to say.

“Holy – I can’t believe it’s you!” Billy cried before scooting around Les and wrapping his arms around Finch. “I – Ma’s never gonna –“ 

“No!” Finch cut him off, stepping back from his youngest brother. “You can’t tell her you saw me.” 

“Bully to that!” Billy retorted with an eye roll. “She been lookin’ for ya since ya ran off, what, nine years ago?”

That made Finch pause. “Really? She was – she was still looking?”

Tony rolled his eyes and reached out to punch him in the arm.   “’Course she was, dummy. Looked all over the damn city. Thought she seen ya a couple times but never did. Ya hid good.”

Les frowned. “You was hidin’ from ya family?”

Finch opened his mouth to say something but the words never came so he shut it again. There was no way he would be able to explain to Les that leaving was what was best for this parents and little brothers. He knew Les would never have understood it if Sarah had taken off, so he had no reason to feel differently about Finch’s situation.

Then again, Les had left home to live with the newsboys full time shortly after David went back to school and Sarah was matched with a guy from their church. He’d moved in with her family shortly after the quick wedding and, while he helped out when he could, there were too many people in the tiny apartment so Les had moved out. Or so was the story the youngest Jacobs told.

“Yeah,” he finally answered. “For a long time.”

“Not no more though,” Tony said fiercely. “Ma and Papa are gonna be so happy when we tell ‘em. Can ya come up for supper?”

“Uh, I gotta …” He pointed over his shoulder at the ferry. “Still workin’.”

“We’ll wait,” Billy said easily, dropping onto a bench. “Us an’ … what’s ya name, kid?”

“Les,” the younger boy answered. “Yous two is Finch’s brothers?”

“Yup,” Tony answered, sitting beside Billy and slightly grinning, probably at the nickname. He looked up at Finch and grinned. “Go do ya work. We’re gonna find out what ya been up to since ya ran off.” He waved his hand and Finch could only shake his head, doing as he was told, especially since one of his crewmates was calling him.

Finch had half hoped his brothers and Les would be gone by the time he got back to Manhattan, but he had no such luck. Once he helped get the ferry secured and cleaned, he exited to find the three boys still sitting on the bench where he’d left them, chatting away as if they’d known each other for years.

He paused his steps, smiling a little, wondering what it would have been like for his blood brothers and his newsie brothers to get to know each other.

“So then Kath’s friend is chattin’ ‘em up and he can’t even talk to ‘er so he yells that he gotta pee and runs away!”

Scratch that. He was going to kill Les and then deny he’d ever met the kid.

“Sounds like he’s lived quite a life without his family,” Billy said, looking up to meet his eyes.

“Wasn’t easy,” Finch responded, shoving his hands into his pockets and resuming his steps. “Slept on the streets for a while before I got taken in by the newsies.”

“Don’t tell that to Ma,” Tony advised. “She’s gonna be cryin’ enough already.”

Finch nodded. “Les, you wanna come get a hot meal?”

Les looked between the brothers then stood, shaking his head. “Nah. Thanks for the offer but I gotta get back ta the fellas. Spent all day without sellin’ so I gotta grab a couple evenin’s and get some pennies in case the littles ain’t done good.”

Finch nodded and put a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for everything, kid. Ya welcome to come on a ride anytime, just ta hang out.”

Les tipped his hat and turned away, heading back up the familiar roads towards Duane Street.

“Still living …” Finch started, but his youngest brother interrupted him.

“Nah, we moved a while ago. Hell’s Kitchen now.” Billy seemed pretty excited about that and Finch could understand why. When he was younger, there was no way they would have been able to afford a place big enough for all of them in Hell’s Kitchen. Sure, it was still a poor area but it was better than where they’d been before he’d left.

“Wow. Not too far at all,” Finch replied thoughtfully. “Might be able ta see yous guys a bit more. If, y’know, Ma an’ Papa don’t kick me out.”

“You kidding?” Tony asked with a snort. “They ain’t even gonna let you leave t’night. Probably ever, if they got somethin’ ta say about it.”

Finch hid a smile, nodding a little. “Wanna just walk? Ain’t too far an’ don’t needa be spendin’ on the trolley if we don’t really need it.”

The boys looked at each other and then turned back to him.   “It’s plenty far,” Billy supplied. “We walk an’ we won’t get home in time for supper to still be warm.”

“If you’re worried about money …” Tony hedged.

“I ain’t,” Finch shot back, maybe a little hotter than he’d intended but he wasn’t a poor newsie anymore. He was a poor ferryman, which was different. He was an adult. “I’m just used ta walkin’.”

“Well tonight you can get used to ridin’.”

Finch’s leg jumped anxiously as he made idle conversation with his brothers. He was more than content to let them fill him in on what they’d been up to in the last nine years. Tony had been seven and Billy had been five when he’d left. Now, both were teenagers, Billy at fourteen and Tony at sixteen, and Finch couldn’t really reconcile these boys with the ones he’d left behind. When he was sixteen, he had already participated in a strike. He was absently glad that his brothers never had to deal with something like that and the beatings that came with it.

“This’s us,” Tony said as he jumped out of the trolley, Finch and Billy following behind. “Couple blocks north. When the day’s clear, can almost see the river from our apartment.”

“That’s great. Ma always wanted to live by the water,” Finch said offhandedly. “Always used to say she would move to Brooklyn if that’s what it took.”

Billy laughed. “Yeah, she said she wanted to do that but she wouldn’t leave Manhattan ‘til she knew if you were there.” 

“Hopefully she don’t pack us up and move us to Brooklyn now that we found you,” Tony added, knocking his shoulder against Finch’s.

When the boys crossed the street to head towards a tall apartment building, Finch stopped. His heart was hammering in his chest and he could feel his hands and knees start to shake. It had been nine years since he ran away from home and now he was about to speak to his mother and father again for the first time.

“C’mon, Patty!” Tony called out. “Y’ain’t gettin’ any younger!” 

Rolling his eyes, Finch took a deep breath and made is way across the street. Billy said they were walking up to the tenth floor, and Finch just followed behind dutifully.

“Right down this hall,” Tony said, slightly out of breath as they headed nearly to the end of the narrow walkway. “Second from the end.” 

When they reached the door, number 1033, Finch felt himself start to freeze up again. Billy opened it and called out that they were home, and all Finch could hear after that was his heart beating in his ears.

“You boys have been gone all day. Get yourselves in here and wash up and you can explain over …” The female voice trailed off as she came closer to the door and her eyes locked on him. “Patrick?”

Not trusting his voice, he could only nod once. The woman blurred as tears filled his eyes, but he knew she was coming closer. As he blinked to clear the tears, her arms wrapped around him in the tightest hug he’d ever been part of. Slowly, his arms came up to wrap around her slight frame. “Hi, Ma.”

She pushed back, eyes fierce, and gave him a shove, Irish accent popping out. “Don’t ya _hi, ma_ , me, young man!” Without saying anything else, she pulled him into another hug. “Oh, Patrick. I’m so happy you’re here. I’m so happy you’re back.” 

He shut his eyes and let the feeling of being in his mother’s arms again wash over him. “Me too,” he said softly. “I’m happy I’m here too.”

“You’re _home_ ,” she corrected. “Welcome _home_ , my boy.”

She held on for a moment longer before pulling back and shouting, “Marco! Marco, come in here! You’ll never guess who the boys brought home!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he heard the familiar mutter of his father from another room. “I’m comin’. Better not be that weird Irish kid with the bright red hair who won’t use a fork.”

Finch couldn’t help but laugh, wondering exactly what kind of friends his brothers were making and why that particular one refused to use a fork. “Weird half-Irish kid, at any rate,” he retorted, watching with a little grin as his father’s head snapped up. “But on his mother’s side.”

“Patrick?” his father asked, eyes wide. “Is that you?”

Finch nodded and shifted on his feet. “Yes, sir.”

His father advanced on him quickly, taking Finch’s face in his hands and just staring into his eyes for a long moment. He could feel the slight shake in his father’s hands and it made him want to cover them to still the movement. Instead, he just kept watching the older man. “My _boy_!” he cried before wrapping Finch in as tight a hug as his mother had. “My boy is home!”

He hugged his father back, the tears returning to his eyes. “Yeah, Papa. I’m home.”


End file.
